Page 14 of A Straight Line

When I stepped out the door back onto the Bluestone patio, I could immediately hear the caterer barking orders to the catering staff. They were having an impromptu meeting on the gazebo where they could have some shade. It never got too hot in Littleburg, but the sun beating down on you is still rather warm when you’re trying to work. Find shade where you can get it in summer, I suppose. As I thought about that, I realized that maybe I had worn the wrong outfit for the outdoor party. I’d been working from home in New York and rarely got to see daylight. Wearing a short-sleeve shirt and shorts might have been better. Soak up some rays. Get a bit of a tan.

Of course, when your cave-dwelling induced lily-white skin hasn’t seen the sun in so long, you have to be careful. With the sun beating down on me as I traversed the porch, I already knew I was going to get a sunburn before the day was over. Luckily, with the party starting at seven, there would maybe be an hour or hour-and-a-half where the sun would have its way with me. Maybe I’d escape a burn if I was lucky.

The DJ—Denny, I presumed—was jamming cables into different pieces of equipment and hooking up his laptop when I approached. My first impression of him was that he looked absolutely nothing like his grandfather. Felix was a handsome man and had held onto his looks pretty well through the years. Denny was not exactly what anyone would call a “stunner.” Of course, I’m nothing special to look at myself, so I don’t judge others by their looks. Denny’s appearance was merely an observation. His grandfather was handsome. He was not. Of course, genetics don’t work in a way that makes grandsons resemble their grandfathers often, so it was pointless to consider for long.

“Hey,” I said as I approached, the list of songs in hand, “your grandfather asked me to ask you to play these songs. He doesn’t want to hear Britney and Madonna all night—his words, not mine. I would have said different artists’ names since I actually live in this century, but—”

“Who?” Denny’s brow creased as he pulled his eyes away from the equipment to meet my gaze.

“Oh, I’m Russ.” I smiled, offering my hand. “Sorry.”

Denny took my hand and gave it a tentative shake.

His hands were sweaty.

“No,” He said, “who told you to give me the list?”

“Felix,” I said, sliding my hand from his, “your grandfather.”

“Well,” He reached up to rub the back of his neck with his sweaty hand, “my grandfather is dead, so you might have the wrong guy.”

“What?” I laughed nervously. “Felix said his grandson Denny was DJing and—”

“I’m not Denny,” He said. “I’m Denny’s roommate. Bird.”

I stared at him. With his hairdo and the bright pink of his shirt, “Bird” was appropriate.

“Caw. Caw.” He flapped his arms gently. “Bird.”

“That’s—that’s a name.” I chuckled.

He shrugged.

Ooookay.

“Well, Felix told me to tell Denny about the song list,” I continued, “so, I guess you’re helping Denny with the DJ equipment, or…?”

“Nah,” Bird said, reaching out to take the list from me, “I’m the DJ. Denny’s helping me.”

“Oh.”

“This is a lot of disco.” He smirked to himself as he read over the list. “But I have them all. I play a lot of weddings and shit. He wants just these played?”

“Oh.” I shook my head to clear it. “No. I mean, I guess play whatever you were intending to play, but mix those songs in with them. The elder gays want to hear some classics, ya’ know?”

“Who doesn’t love the classics?” Bird agreed.

“Right. Well, thanks, Den—I mean, Bird.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled, then his eyes flicked to the side of the house. “There’s Denny.”

I turned just in time to see the actual Denny round the corner of the house, a large plastic milk crate dangling from his hand at his side. Apparently, I had been a bit confused when I saw the two guys setting up the DJ booth. But just a little. The guy behind the booth, setting up the equipment, was obviously the DJ. That had been proven. The guy in the black jeans and t-shirt and fresh kicks was his assistant. However, the assistant hadn’t just pitched in to be nice. He was the grandson of one of The Flirtatious Five. Of course, Denny was Felix’s grandson. Bird was Denny’s roommate. Was Bird DJing free of charge?

Maybe they were both helping out?

“That’s what they called me in school.” The guy in black—Denny—quipped, a broad grin on his face.

He rounded the booth and set the plastic milk crate behind his roommate. Bird took no interest in Denny or the milk crate. He simply slipped the list of songs under his computer so that it wouldn’t blow away, but so he could still read it, then went back to setting up his equipment. I should have been offended that he was no longer interested in anything going on around him—since I was one of those things—but having the music ready for the party was essential.